A Life Extraordinary
by Sulia Serafine
Summary: For "It Could Be Worse" fans, a little piece I wanted to spoil you with. After four years, it's hard to stay away.
1. A Life Extraordinary

A Life Extraordinary

_A post-ICBW short by yours truly,_

_Sulia Serafine._

_(I miss you guys something terrible.)_

_DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER I OWN NOTHING LEAVE ME ALONE HELP MOMMY DISCLAIMER_

He was sitting in the car, looking across the intersection where the southernmost corner of the park was visible. Spring had reached its peak and everything annoyed him. She could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were pulled downward. He might have been allergic to all the airborne pollen. But by that time, she was ridiculously accustomed to his frowns; one meant he was irritated by someone that he chose not to rebuke outright, one meant that he was angry with a person for withholding information, and her favorite one meant that he had completely forgotten to bring his auto mechanics magazine to read during the times she insisted that he come with her to the private aerobics class she had signed up for.

"Why would I want to be in a room full of fat pregnant woman bouncing around Swedish exercise balls?"

And she would say that there were other husbands who were very supportive and even exercised along with their wives. And he would reply that he strictly did _not_ on any circumstances _bounce—_and especially with an oversized Swedish exercise ball. He preferred the weight set at the station and the punching bag in their basement.

As she exited the store, he saw her and started the engine. His frown became even more pronounced as the car roared to life. He had detested the idea of having a car, but he would never openly argue its practicality. They had already started looking around for the safest rated child seat that Saturday.

As for the car, they had compromised. Despite the fact that hover cars were more common in their region of the country of decently wealthy homeowners, she let him buy a ground vehicle because he felt it was more rugged (and manly, she supposed) than a hover car. This didn't stop him from riding around on his motorcycle every chance he got.

"Now what took _you_ so long? I could have grown a beard by now."

"A beard?"

"Oh, don't think I didn't notice how you were rubbing my face those two weeks we were visiting your parents and you had lost my razor. You liked it." As she opened the door and got into the car, he studied the ice cream cone in her hand. "That's it?"

"There was more," she confessed, embarrassed by her sudden urge to giggle. "I ate a lot of it while I was glancing at the newspaper. Here, have some."

"I don't like strawberry."

"Well, what do you like?"

"I don't eat ice cream."

She smacked him on the arm. "You liar. I saw you eat that vanilla scoop once."

"Your mother handed that to me at the cook out. I was trying to be nice by not refusing. Or should I just have thrown it at Neal? Because, I swear, I was going to if it weren't for the fact that he'd probably break something and make me foot the hospital bill."

She rolled her eyes. "He is not that fragile." She licked the ice cream again. "Are you sure you don't want any?"

He didn't answer her, but was looking out the window at the park again. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin crumpled in her fist.

"What is it?"

His head jerked around quickly and he shook his head. He shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. "Nothing, nothing."

But she saw the pre-pubescent boy walking in the park, pale and blond with a scowl on his face as he ran a broken branch against the metal fencing around the park. _Clack, clack, clack._

"Joren?"

"I said it was nothing." But after a moment, he turned off the car again and removed the keys from the ignition. There were ten confusing moments of silence before he said, "I'm going in to buy you a tub of strawberry ice cream so we don't have to come back so soon."

"Joren."

His hand was on the door handle, but he didn't leave the car. And Keladry carefully held her cone away as she leaned over and kissed him. When she leaned back, she took another lick of ice cream.

Joren ran his own tongue over his lips and snorted, though he was now smiling just faintly. "You taste like strawberries."

"Sorry."

"No, no. It was fine. It reminded me of something."

It reminded her of something, too. So, she held out the ice cream cone for him to lick as he finally started the car again and they headed home.

Author: Oooooh. That felt good. College is killing me. I haven't gotten a chance to work on any free writing for a while. At a certain person's behest, I have decided to make this short and advertise her website, which is a Sulia Serafine fanlisting. (Garsh! For mmmmmeee?)

Since refuses to let me have URLs, just email me for it. Coolness, peoples?

(Thank you, Keena.)

And this one is mine, though it's ancient and hasn't been touched for a very long time. I don't have plans on doing anything with it. But yeah. It's there for anyone who wants to see. It's on my profile.

And thanks to all who have continued to keep in touch with me, urging me to lose sleep and skip homework to put out a little vignette like this. I've had a lot of bad down-with-love poetry and some depressed prose pieces, but this makes me happy. It always did. sigh Hope everyone's been doing well.

Rock on, droogies.

Sulia "Dude, she only wishes she were hardcore" Serafine

February 1, 2005.


	2. The Hereafter

A Life Extraordinary:

_A second post-ICBW short by yours truly,_

_Sulia Serafine._

_Auhor's Note: Contrary to popular opinion, I am not returning to write another series for the ICBW universe. Alas, this piece (this one RIGHT here that you're reading RIGHT NOW) is probably one of the last little things that I do with fanfiction. That's not to say I don't miss you guys. I miss you very much and appreciate all the attention you've paid to my fics. I hate to say that I'm over the Joren thing, just as many people get over the Draco thing, and the love of bad boys in general. I suppose this is because my recent ex-boyfriend was one of these said "bad boys" and we parted ways very… badly (that jerk). _

_So! Real life lesson, my dears! It's fun to flirt with those bad boys, but don't dare to try to keep them for the long haul!_

_And now, back to the world of fiction, where bad boys can be reformed and actually made quite adorable and doting._

With a resolve as strong as his wife's, Joren assumed it wouldn't be long before she was back in prime condition. Conal's birth had been unexpectedly taxing on Keladry's body and she had needed more time to recover than predicted. However, once the doctor had put her in the clear, every day was spent with increasingly challenging training. Joren found himself unable to use his own punching bag for all the hours she was beating away at it.

Keladry quickly learned that she could not count on Joren to spar with her. He would, if asked, but he did not initiate attacks as much as he knocked aside her advances like they were nothing. When he did deign to go on the offensive, he used short, painless moves that demobilized her rather than defeated her the way that she wished to be defeated.

Before her pregnancy, he at least put up a good fight. Joren had always been better than her in unarmed combat. That had not stopped him from sparring on a lesser difficulty level that was closer to hers. Though it was incredibly patronizing, Keladry worked with it and improved.

But now? Now she could only rely on herself to build up her skill level again.

In the meantime, it was Joren who was rocking Conal to sleep in the nursery. This very nursery had been decorated by Lalasa Jasson as a baby shower present. The shades of blue were done to match Keladry's uniform, but the color was nothing compared to the eyes of the Stone men. For the most part, Joren ignored the stuffed animals and the cartoon dragons on the wallpaper. He focused his gaze through the window, to the expanse of grass and trees that the backyard consisted of. In some ways, Irontown was very much like the Gala of his boyhood. Though their home was not isolated, it was surrounded on enough sides by wooded areas to give the illusion of privacy.

When Keladry finished her afternoon workout, she decided to enter the nursery, which was on the way to the master bedroom. She wiped the trickle of yellow energy drink on her chin, an energy drink that she was chugging back because it was the only one that Neal's father, the honorable Dr. Baird, did not frown upon. In any case, she stopped drinking and took a deep breath as she stepped into the nursery. Her son was asleep and his father, who held Conal as delicately and protectively as a desperate man in the desert holds a thimble full of water, was in a rare state of undisturbed tranquility.

She could see his face in the reflection of the window. She almost hated herself for speaking up.

"What are you thinking about?"

He didn't turn to look at her, but the reflection of his eyes met hers. "Nothing much. The trees, I suppose."

Keladry moved forward and rested a hand on the back of the wooden rocking chair. Joren Stone in a rocking chair! She wouldn't have believed it if she weren't standing there touching the chair herself.

"What about the trees?"

"I climbed a tree in Gala and I fell. There used to be a scar on the back of my leg from that."

There was no need for them to talk about "there used to be" instead of "there is." Keladry still remembered the night he returned, his body washed clean of scars. She never asked about it, but she was pretty sure that Joren's "father" had something to do with it. She moved her hand from the rocking chair to the back of Joren's head, playing with the ends of his hair. If her husband had not been holding their slumbering son, he would have caught her wrist and prevented her. Keladry took full advantage of that fact and began massaging his neck.

"If you think being hot and sweaty is attractive right now, you must not be aware of how you smell like shit—and don't give me lip about cursing around him. He's asleep."

"You're lucky you're holding Conal. Otherwise, I'd trounce you one good," Keladry muttered, pinching Joren's neck.

"You couldn't _trounce_ me anything… unless, of course, you're referring to making another baby with that ridiculous vocabulary. In which case, I don't think I'm ready to deal with another round of mood swings."

Keladry rolled her eyes and turned to leave the nursery. Before she could take a step, his hand shot out and caught her wrist. She looked back, her thoughts strangely jumping to the worry that Conal would be jarred awake by the movement rather than to the grip of her husband's hand on her arm.

Conal was asleep, his tiny little mouth open and the most unnoticeable little breaths that barely moved his body. Joren insistently held his wife back. After a moment, he let her go.

"What?" she asked.

"We can, if you want."

She shook her head. "Can what?"

He shrugged slightly. "Have another one."

At first, Keladry had no idea of what he was talking about. She studied him and realized he wasn't looking at her, but at Conal. The tiny tufts of blond hair hung around like golden threads around his small head. Keladry touched her stomach again. It was still too soon for her, but what about later? Did she want another one? More importantly, did he really want another one?

"Nothing is going to happen to him," she whispered. She reached out to touch their baby's hair. Keladry could barely feel it. "Nothing would happen to either of them. I promise."

He didn't respond to the last remark, but waved her off. "Go and shower unless you want Conal to form subconscious memories of his mother smelling like a sweaty gym locker."

"I could trounce you."

Joren couldn't respond with his normal witticism because Conal distracted both his parents with a yawn. Instead, he looked up at her with unreadable eyes.

"We can, if you want."

She nodded and couldn't resist kissing Conal on the head before Joren complained about her sweaty smell again. Keladry teasingly pinched Joren's nose before leaving the room. She would have to think about it in the shower.

They certainly could, if they wanted. Things would _not_ get worse. Not if they could help it.

_Author's note: Ha-cha-cha. That's it, folks. It's back to the real world for me. _


End file.
